Clearwell Police Station

Ah, one of the few privileges of living in a small town- the person you called was likely the person you needed. “This is Virgil Estrada, correct?” Alma pursed his lips, looking at the file in front of him. For once, a fairly up to date record. Papers about a broken arm a year ago, but it had been taken care of. Vaccinations were up to date, and Alma was pretty satisfied with the information provided. No harm in checking up on it, of course. “When was the last time you saw a doctor or other medical professional for an exam?” Regardless of Virgil’s answer….Alma knew they’d have to make an appointment soon, if only to check up on the arm, and make sure the prevention tests for a man his age were scheduled in short order. What good would it do if the Sheriff wasn’t healthy himself?

“Yep, speakin’.”

He considered informing the other that there wasn’t anyone else at this address, and thus, the nurse probably wouldn’t reach anyone else here, but... well, that was probably stating the obvious. Besides, the nurse had other, more pressing questions that he... would have thought the clinic would have known the answer to. Were the records that bad?...Ooh, wait, maybe it was more like a skill testing question. He had this.

“Last...summer, I think? S’when I took the kids in.”

Had he gotten a checkup around the same time?... He couldn’t remember. He’d broken his arm a week later, so that probably would’ve counted as being looked at... even if it wasn’t formally a checkup. Although that just seemed to beg the question.

@somethingpolice

Lenna strode through the town square with a brisk gait. Anyone could tell from a distance this was a woman on a mission. While usually seen with a pleasant smile on her face, today her expression was one who’d smelled something unpleasant. Her mood could be attributed to one man and her sights were dead set on the police station.

Today was a day off for her. One that she’d originally planned to spend in a better mood. Fawn was taking care of things at the bakery and Gran was busy with some project or another and insisted that Lenna get some fresh air. It’d been a while since she’d the chance to check up on one of her closest friends so she’d decided to give him a call. 

She called the house three times and every single time it’d eventually sent her to voicemail. Lenna knew that she wasn’t being ignored. He wouldn’t do that to her intentionally. She doubted he’d ever ignore anyone intentionally. Which led to the only conclusion that he wasn’t home that morning. But where else would he be so early? 

Lenna didn’t have to think much on it. From one unproclaimed workaholic to another she knew he was still at his desk. And by the Goddess if she found him sleeping there again he’ll be sorry. 

“Virgil?” she called out as she stepped through the police station’s door. It didn’t take her more than a few strides into the building to find the sheriff’s desk and Virgil sleeping atop it. 

A frown settled over Lenna’s lips as she stared at the man. She’d suspected as much, but it was another thing to witness it. Honestly, he’d raised kids on his own he should know to take better care of himself. With a sigh Lenna crossed the room to stand beside him. 

Back when Javier and Lila were still staying with him and he’d had repairs to do, that was one thing. Then, he’d needed time when they were out of the house so that nobody would be underfoot and end up getting injured. When there was nothing to occupy himself with and the kids were out, however... well. The emptiness left plenty of room for thought, and thought bred worry. 

And so, at 11 pm the previous night, Virgil had meandered his way back into work with the hopes that getting something done would be enough to ease his mind. The trail of paperwork had certainly done enough to distract him, but... well, as he was wont to do, he’d found himself nodding at some ungodly hour of the morning.

...Which eventually lead to Lenna coming across what probably looked more like a mop than a human head on top of the Sheriff’s desk when she entered the station. Her initial call didn’t get much of a reaction from him - however, shaking his shoulder prompted a lazy hand to rise up from the desk, not unlike a corpse rising from the grave, to swat vaguely in its direction.

“Nnmnnahhh… ‘till dark…… make toast’r somethin’ Lil....”

For a moment, it seemed as though he would have been content to leave the matter there and continue snoozing, although something in his brain apparently registered that the hand waking him didn’t belong to his niece asking him to make breakfast. From somewhere under the cover of his hair, a tired eye opened and glanced up.

“...Lenna?”

It all came back to him then. In an instant, the sheriff sprang to an upright position, turning to face the direction of the sound. 

“Goddess, I’m so sorry! Are you all right? Is your grandmother all right?”

It then occurred to him that he probably wouldn’t be able to do anything if he wasn’t able to actually see. Thumbing a band around his wrist, he quickly tied his hair back, a mix of concern, confusion and embarrassment causing him to appear rather flustered as his face became visible again. He immediately honed in on Lenna as he considered what else she may have come into the office for, apparently not considering that it might have been her day off. 

“I had to see if I could trust you. Also I’m very bored” Sorrel smirked.

“You’ve lived here your whole life haven’t you?” Sorrel said, “You don’t need the sight to see that. I wish all police shared your views” Sorrel’s smile faded. They came out from behind the desk and took an old poppet off its display. 

“And there are those who use your job to bully others for their own amusement. Many areas are full of corrupt lawmen. As long as you aren’t like them..” Sorrel was saying sarcastically before their voice suddenly trailed off. They put the doll down and turned to the sheriff.

“Do you know the suspect’s name?”

They were testing him, because they were... bored.

That, however, hadn’t really gotten him as much as the comments that followed. Had they just implied he was naive? That always seemed to be the implication whenever anyone asked if he was born in the country. In spite of himself, he found himself bristling a bit as they continued speaking. 

“I spent ‘bout half my life in the city, so no, I haven’t had that privilege.”

He huffed a little. 

“And those ain’t officers of the law. Those’re opportunists who defy everything the badge stands for that the system hasn’t caught yet. They don’t deserve the honor... of...”

He trailed off and fell silent for a moment, feeling a dull sense of deja vu as he re-considered what exactly was coming out of his mouth. Fraudsters and... corrupt lawmen. Okay, he had sounded like a bit of an asshole there, hadn’t he? The fight seemed to peter out of him in an instant, and he found himself sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck. 

“...Okay, okay. I guess ya have a point. Sorry ‘bout that. Baddies can hold just ‘bout any job these days.”

 ... But it was time to get back on track. Virgil’s eyes fluttered shut a moment as he attempted to remember the suspect’s name.

“It was... Somethin’ Weaver, I think. Started with an L...”

He’d written it down during the call, but it hadn’t made its way to the poster for some reason. He hadn’t bothered bringing it, thinking he’d be able to remember it. Maybe he should have...oh, no, wait. He had it. He opened his eyes again, returning his attention to Sorrel.

Alar was almost oblivious to Officer Estrada’s amusement. Almost. He felt a momentary victory at his joke being understood, though that feeling did not last long when Virgil continued to speak.

‘I made this.’ Well, now he just felt like a complete ass. He couldn’t recall a time in his short life in Clearwell where he had spoken to Officer Estrada, but the first chance he’d gotten he goes and makes a crack at the officer’s own drawing abilities.

“Oh! You drew th–” He paused and coughed, brushed hair from his eyes; play it cool, Alar. “Right, no, I haven’t seen anybody wearin’ anything like that.” Play it cool, buddy.

He glanced up to Virgil and caught the motion; shoot, now he had something across his face? He not only felt like a total ass, but looked like one? Today was shaping up great. “Oh, shit,” he mumbled, his palm and wrist coming up to wipe at his lips.

And, magically, there actually was something there. Across Alar’s wrist now was his lip balm… or, was it actually clear lip gloss? And in that was a smudge of dirt from the sidewalk. He wasn’t the watch thief, but he was the culprit of poking the ant hill.

..Erm. Maybe he shouldn’t have mentioned that he was the one who drew it? He’d thought if he’d ignored the quality, no one would remark upon it - there was a very good reason he held his post as an officer and not as an artist, after all. Judging from the other’s response, however, not everyone saw the humor in laughing at the chief of police’s questionable artwork. 

(Which, in hindsight, was... probably very normal)

Still, at the time, his words had come off as a little suspicious, and Virgil may have given him a bit of a questioning look. Well, maybe the mechanic hadn’t seen anyone ELSE wearing anything like that... but he didn’t seem to have the scar after a clear substance was wiped off on the back of his wrist. He nodded in a sort of quiet affirmation at the dirt after almost missing seeing it, privately thankful to have been blessed with an incidental cover-up for his ruse.

“Yeah, ya got it.”

A pause. Virgil cleared his throat.

Sorrel was caught off guard by his immediate concern. They began to laugh. 

“Relax, you really think I’m that stupid? He was shaking so bad the dagger slipped right from his grip and onto the floor. Once he was without a weapon he bolted. Smart of him, I’ve had my share of thieves, however most of them are now six feet under” Sorrel smiled. This had become pretty amusing. They opened a drawer on the left of their front desk and pulled out an object wrapped in cloth. 

“Careful, don’t want to get lockjaw” They said, handing over the object, “I took care not to get any of my fingerprints on it, I’d rather not be considered as a suspect. That’s why I didn’t call. Cops don’t usually trust us crystal ball gazers. But you seem alright”

He probably should have been angrier at their deceptive use of language and the idea that this was a laughing matter to them, but the first thing Virgil did once the reality hit was sigh in relief. The whole ‘dead thief’ thing was a little concerning, but... perhaps that was something asked about when he wasn’t pressed to find a drug-addled wildcard. The fortune teller seemed less likely to skip town in a hurry than he was. He allowed himself to relax a little.

“Ya coulda just said he dropped the knife to begin with.”

He sounded a little disgruntled as he removed a pair of gloves and a bag labeled specifically for evidence from one of the pockets on his belt, being mindful that he wouldn’t make direct contact as he accepted the knife with a small nod of thanks.

“I can understand ya concern, but... well, you’re a citizen here like anyun’ else. I might not get what ya do, but bias has no place in the eyes of the law.”

Being mindful not to spend too much time handling it, he popped the knife into the bag, making a point to fill out the form and seal it up properly later. This would no doubt prove handy for having Brandy pick up the trail from here.

“I think most cops ain’t keen ‘cause there are people who use your job to scare people n’ trick ‘em into giving their money and possessions over. They say it’s t’cleanse ‘em from evil spirits when they’re really just bein’ greedy and intendin’ to steal ‘em for their own personal use.” 

He’d recalled hearing about a few cases of fraud like that back in Havencrest, anyway. He’d spent most of those years wondering why people would prey on the desperate like that.

Alar glanced up from the concrete driveway in front of his mechanic shop-front. The garage doors were pulled up and revealed the workshop within, though Alar was very busy at work trying to convince an ant family and their hill located within the cracks of his driveway to pick up shop and move.

Clearly, a very busy mechanic.

He was dressed in a ballcap with the word “Coffee” across the front in capital letters, and his sideburns looked a tad scruffier than their usual scruffiness. In fact, his uniform was unbuckled at the front along the first half, and his sleeves were rolled up.

By all accounts, and almost comically awkwardly, Alar looked dressed rather vaguely similar to the poster’s… bad attempt at capturing the criminal’s depiction.

All that was missing was the scar, or… he thought that was a scar. He looked up at Officer Estrada, his eyes squinting as he caught a ray of sunlight from behind Virgil’s head.

“Stealin’ watches? Maybe they should’ve tried to get those back before sendin’ you that poster.” It was a bad joke, with very little reference point. Timely manner, stealing watches. You know, puns. Kind of.

“I don’t really recognize ‘em, I ain’t seen 'em myself, Officer.” He stood, eyes still on the poster’s design.

Maybe they should’ve tried to get those back before sendin’ you that poster.

Virgil fought to keep the tiniest of grins from his face, reaching up and pulling down the brim of his hat as though the tiny shadow it cast would be enough to hide his amusement. The subtlety of that joke’s execution was an art form; most would have brushed it off as nonsensical, but... but no, now wasn’t the time for this. He had to focus.

“Ah... actually, I made this one from an eyewitness ‘scription they’d given me. They said they could send me a proper one in a few days, but, y’know. The clock was tickin’.”

That was the exact opposite of focusing. 

Although... The mechanic’s current thief chic hadn’t escaped his notice, but, well... he couldn’t have claimed to have immediately suspected him. The stationmaster had sworn to have seen a scarred man with a heavy pack when he’d made his inquiries there, as had the officer over the phone; it was pretty plain that the other had lacked that particular aspect when he’d faced him. Unless...

“Thank ya anyway. Although... ya have somethin’ on your face, right here.”

Sorrel stared at the man for a minute. He was a lot taller than they were and definitely stronger. He also had patches of discolored skin that Sorrel found interesting. They grabbed the poster and this time looked at it more intently.

“Hm..that’s probably the one thing we share…love” They handed him back the poster. Then they turned around and started messing with a talisman that had been on the shelf behind them. 

“I have seen this man, yes” They said, swinging the amulet back and forth, “He came into my shop, tried to sell me a watch. Too expensive and not needed. Time is an illusion” They said, with a mischievous look in their eyes. 

“That’s what I told him. Then he pulled out a knife and threatened to cut me if I didn’t give him all my money. So rude, and stupid. If he were smart he would’ve asked for the jewelry. Much more fortune to be found with that” They sighed and put the talisman back on the shelf and turned to the sheriff. 

“So I took his knife from him of course, wasn’t that hard, he was evidently too gutless to stop me” Sorrel smiled, “He was also obviously…..er…chemically incapacitated, if you catch my meaning. Would you like to see it?”

Ah, so they had seen them... and they were threatened at knifepoint?! Almost instantly, Virgil’s gaze shot to their hands, their arms - or, what he could see of them with their back turned. They disarmed their attacker, apparently, but the question remained at the forefront of his mind;

“Were you hurt?”

Evidently, if they were here and not at the clinic, it wasn’t very critical if they were... or they were an expert at concealing it, not wishing to rely on the medical professionals here. People seemed a bit stubborn when it came to their health around here sometimes, it seemed. His tone was tinged with the slightest hint of worry as he continued speaking.

“Yes, I would like to see the evidence, if you have retained such... but I wish you would have called right away rather than engaging with him. What if he was not under some manner of influence? Your home is not exactly located within the residential district. Taking unnecessary risks benefits no one.”

Liam was making his way across the town square towards the town hall. His father had asked him to stop by that day. For what he could only imagine, but thought it wouldn’t do any good not to show. He was fixing his cuff links when he heard a familiar voice from behind. 

Turning his torso to look, he saw none other than the vigilant Virgil Estrada. At least that’s what Art would call him around town. But Liam didn’t have time to say anything in greeting before the a flyer was thrust into his face. 

Liam stared at it for a moment, taking in the absolute worst sketch of a suspect he’d ever seen before slowly making eye contact with Virgil, trying to see if he was being serious or trying to prank him in some way. 

“Is this your personal work?” Liam asked, his unimpressed expression not changing in the slightest. He nodded to the sketch in question. 

“And, was that a pun?” Liam then asked, raising an eyebrow, “Really, Estrada, I would have thought better of you than to make light of such a serious matter.” 

Virgil had, on some level, already mentally prepared to encounter Liam well before he approached him. His nature was no great secret to the town - well, at least so long as the gossipy older ladies had something to say about it. There was something expectant in his gaze, but no real humor as he waited for the other to start attempting to tear into him. 

“Well... yeah. Considerin’ I’m the only officer serving ‘ere and we don’t got computers, someone’s gotta make the mug shots. Couldn’ really just tell ‘em to hold the line while I go off lookin’ for the best person to draw ‘em.”

He paused, turning the picture back to have a look at it himself.

“ ‘Least this sorta thing don’t happen too often, but I might be just a bit rusty.”

Rusty was perhaps an understatement; there had only been three other times during his time serving as deputy -- and later sheriff -- in Clearwell when he was prompted to produce the mugshot himself rather than having it faxed over to him. At least the last couple of times, he’d been fortunate enough to have uncovered suspects matching the description he’d been given over the phone. Hopefully this time wouldn’t be much different.. well, other than the other matter the mayor’s son took issue with. Virgil looked at him quizzically.

“Was what a pun?..”

He fell silent a moment, re-assessing his words. Looking for a man, 5′10″, convicted of the theft of a bag of watches... Wait. Watches... timely...  Oh. ...Oh! Immediately, he brought a hand up to cover his mouth, feigning a cough to cover up the snort that escaped him. Shit, that was a good one. How did he not notice that?

“... Oh, no. That was completely... punintentional. That is, I mean, no pun was intended.”

If the initial reaction was any testament, it was clear enough that his incidental genius wouldn’t be appreciated here. Virgil cleared his throat.

There was a lot that needed to be improved at the clinic. Most of it was really out of his control- the washing machine in the back, for example. An ancient, loud machine that likely dated back to the 1960s. Why’d a medical clinic have something like that? Who knows. And the medical files- god, that mess. They just didn’t have the technology of the modern world to put it in files on a computer, so they all had to stay in their musty grey file cabinets. Alma couldn’t fix either of these things- but they worked decently, so for now he didn’t have to try.

But goddess be blessed, the fix-it spirit so overflowing in Alma would not be put to waste. There were countless things that did need to be fixed, and to start, Alma would update the patient records, dusty as they were. He had organized much of them just the other day, weeding out those dead and no longer in town. Today he’d see what he could do to make sure said records were up to date by making phone calls to update records and make sure the townspeople were up to date on physicals and other such regular appointments. It’d be a disaster if the mess left by the previous staff caused some sort of medical…outbreak of something or other. At that thought, Alma made a mental note to make sure everyone had their mandated vaccinations. Yeah. Just to be safe. Someone had to make sure of that around here.

One quick glance at today’s schedule ensured a free afternoon, and that was all the assurance Alma needed to heft a stack of files from the back room to the front desk, pluck one off the top of the pile, flip it open, and start dialing the number listed. He had a long day ahead of him, but Alma was ready to tackle it with all the tenacity he had in him.

How quaint, he thought, a yawn escaping him as he looked at his desk. He’d been doing paperwork, hadn’t he?.. Huh. The phone rang again. Were the two related?.. His attention slid to the window, where light was filtering in through the pane; odd. It had been pitch black last time he’d looked. Had he fallen asleep?

It was only on the third ring that a glance at the clock brought him to the realization that, oh, it was mid noon and he was meant to be on the job. Hastily clearing his throat to try and force the tired drawl from his voice, he picked up the phone and took on a more official tone;

“Clearwell Police, what’s your emergency?”

...But once the individual on the other end spoke their intent, and Virgil melted back into his desk. He could relax. Record updates from the clinic usually meant no one was in danger, thank the Goddess.  ...Well, except him, maybe. If they were going to get after him for drinking too much coffee again, he was ready this time. There were health benefits, from real scientists. He’d looked it up.

“Oh... ‘ello, Mr. Vauclain.”

Vauclain, Vaulclain... That was... the new nurse, wasn’t it? He certainly seemed keen. He pulled the phone away from his head for a moment to stifle a second yawn, hoping the other didn’t hear and take offense before returning it to his ear. 

Sorrel wasn’t good with any type of law enforcement. So when the sheriff walked into their shop, their stomach dropped. Luckily he didn’t seem to be there for them. Sorrel looked over the poster, unimpressed. 

“What is this supposed to be? Modern art?” Sorrel said apathetically, “Anyway if you need help finding him maybe I can look into the astral void and get you a lead…for a price of course” Sorrel had no intention of literally doing that, however whatever information they might have they were not going to give up for free, especially not to a cop.

Their apathetic statement was enough to give Virgil pause, and he took a moment to have a look at the poster himself. Modern art?.. 

Oh.

“M’still... ahem, working on my mug shots. We had a program that generated ‘im for us in the city, but s’nothin’ like that ‘round here.”

If he’d ever gotten around to hiring a deputy, maybe he should have put drawing as one of the required skills. His certainly didn’t seem to do much good.

And then came the offer of... looking into the astral void.

He quirked his eyebrow a little. Right. This was the fortune teller’s house, wasn’t it? Most of these setups always seemed to be complete and utter cons, but there’d been no complaints yet... still, being down on one’s luck and turning to a somewhat ludicrous job description wasn’t something you arrested others for. When this one started going for someone’s inheritance money and swiped their house, then they’d have a problem. 

“Considerin’ that our man seems to have an interest in shiny baubles that tell the user things, withholdin’ information ain’t really in your favor here, love.”

A small ‘tsk’ escaped him as he continued, shifting a little in the direction of the door.

“You want a portion of the reward money for catchin’ ‘im, that could be arranged if ya information’s good. But we don’t do no bribes in Clearwell.”